


The Planets

by Just_a_little_star_wars



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Earth, Hope you enjoy, Multi, one shots, the planets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_a_little_star_wars/pseuds/Just_a_little_star_wars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of these one-shots will be based on a song by Sleeping at Last, mostly based around clones but well see what happens. Each chapter will be a new story if not stated other wise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Planets

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything all rights go to Disney.  
> Author’s Note: This collection is going to be a bunch of different one-shots based on songs by Sleeping at Last. Sleeping at Last has this album full of songs that are each based on a planet. So I decided to write a story based on each of their songs. So yeah. Let’s see how this goes. The first one is ……………………….Earth.

I never asked to be like this, none of us did. We were breed to be used and destroyed all in the name for a Republic we had no choice in being a part of. From a young age we are taught to kill, and follow orders. Nothing else. We couldn’t go out and have lives, have families. No, that was all breed out of us until we nothing but shells of humans we are made to resemble. 

 

We are like toy soldiers, forced to fight until we die or are too damaged and are thrown away. Millions of men, my brothers have already been killed, for what. A wining battle? The death of a droid or two? They never have funerals for us or memorials we rarely have time to mourn the loss of a brother before we are off fighting again. I have lost so many men, so many brothers right in front of me, and then they expect me to not feel anything, to keep fighting until we are just like them. Dead. Shot on a battle field or blown in space. I keep them all in my memories, all those lost brothers. Every strike on my helmet is another friend lost. Every night I list them in my head and say sorry. Sorry that I wasn’t able to save them, sorry that I’m not allowed to feel sadness and sorry for leaving them there, never to be buried like any other man, their bodies left on the battle line never to be seen or heard of again, never to be buried properly. 

 

It’s stupid to say that I keep a list. A small, black book that I keep with me where ever I go. At the end of every battle I write their names down, every single brother I have lost to this terrible war. It’s almost full, the book, only three more pages left and then I have to start a new one. By the end of this war, I can see my self carrying hundreds of these books, filled with the names of men who fought for what?   
Peace?   
Safety?   
The end of the Separatists?   
It seems that every time a new name is written I’m digging one more centimetre of my grave. How much longer am I going to live? How many names of un-known soldiers are going to the grave with me? How many little black books will there be before my name is added as well?

 

But then what, what’s going to happen if we do win? What’s going to happen to all my brothers who somehow lived? We are nothing but killing machines, trained to shoot first think later, to have no emotions, to not have hopes and dreams for what we are going to do when this war is over, if it ever does end. We weren’t told what is going to happen to us after. What the galaxy is like outside of the barracks and the battlefields. What other jobs could we get, we weren’t taught how to do anything. 

 

The sounds of the battle echo around me, the crash of the bombs and the sounds of our blasters creating a terrifying symphony. Then we hear it. The final bomb drop, the finale shot, and then silence. We’ve won. But at what cost? I look out towards the battlefield to see the bodies of my brothers thrown around, shot where they stood. We should be celebrating, the survivors, we’ve won, but all any of us can do is nothing. None of us move forward to look at our fallen brothers, or shout in triumph, we’ve all seen this before, the aftermath. We can’t show sadness or emotions, no, that would be weak, and soldiers were never weak. 

 

As soon as I step onto the next battle field I stop thinking, in those minutes, hours, days or longer, I stop. I don’t think about the what if’s or could be’s. It’s live or die, shoot or be shot. I push all of them out of my mind, all those fallen brothers and it’s just me. Standing in front of the enemy, and I hate myself for being able to do that. To forget about all the world outside this battle.   
It’s monstrous.   
It’s barbaric,   
Its,  
Its,  
Not human. Because we aren’t human are we, done of us clones are. Yes we may look like them, but other humans are allowed to feel, aloud to dream. They have homes and families they can go back to, to hold onto their memories as they fight, because unlike us, they have people to fight for. We fight. But for something that we may never grasp. Peace. What a funny word, I’ve never experienced peace, what’s it like?   
Can anyone tell me?

 

Don’t get me wrong, we still try to live, done of us go into battle hoping that we’ll die, no that wouldn’t be right. We defend each other, we fight as a unite, in such perfect unity that only hours and hours of training can reach. Each and everyone one of us would give up our lives if that is what it cost to win a battle. But as this war gets longer and longer, the end seeming to never come, but continue to get further and further away, we are getting tired. Tired of having to see each other die day in and day out.   
Tired of fighting for a war we had no choice in being a part of.  
Tired of it all.  
What would it matter, if one of two of us just ended it one day, ended the way we wanted. Went out with no fan fair, didn’t want others to see. Would anyone miss us?

 

You see the thing about pain, it demands to be felt. None of us are bullet proof. I hold in the tears and anguish for another time, another place, when I’m alone. And then once I get to that place, I sit down, I write the names and scratch another notch in my helmet. The pages of these books are not just full with names but with the tears that have been shed for them. I give myself a moment, before collecting myself. I am strong. I am a clone. I will fight again. I will continue to live for you.  
My brother.  
My friend.   
Fives.   
He was a good man, the best. An amazing fighter and clone. Everyone things he just went crazy. But what if he was onto something? What if he was right, what is all this is just a plan by someone higher?  
What if we just pawns in a game?  
Toy soldiers in a real battle?

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: what did you guys think? Please remember to leave a review as it will help me and give me encouragement to keep writing. I’m also looking for a beta reader, so if anyone is up to it please message me. INTERNET HUGS AND COOKIES FOR ALL. Bella Out. 
> 
> P.S. I know I stole a line from a John Green book that line goes to him.


End file.
